Hotel Sanguine
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: Lucius and Narcissa's wedding day was seemingly perfect, right up until their honeymoon. As they fall into a relaxing, post-coitus slumber, a sudden twist of fate occurs.


**Written For:  
** \- theresnomeaning for the December Exchange, prompt used: "You make the end of the world look like something poetic, and disgustingly romantic."  
 **Word Count:** 2,718

* * *

 **Hotel Sanguine**

 _My reputation's kind of clouded with dirt, that's why you sleep with one eye open._

Lucius looked into his new wife's eyes as the priest finished his spiel. "You may now kiss the bride," he told Lucius—and Lucius didn't need telling twice. Without further ado, he leaned forward and pressed a swift, chaste kiss—an appropriate one, as all of their families were watching—to Narcissa Malfoy's small, pink mouth.

She smiled up at him, her icy blue eyes appearing unusually warm. Narcissa, who usually embodied everything harsh and frozen, was glowing. He wrapped his arms around her, and she melted into his embrace. "I can't wait to spend the night with you," she whispered heatedly into the shell of his ear, and Lucius felt a tinge spreading across his cheeks. When he withdrew from the embrace, Narcissa had a smug look on her face. He barely dared to look around at her family—particularly her father, Cygnus, who hadn't been entirely happy at giving away his youngest daughter at such a young age.

The newly weds turned to smile at their guests, before heading back down the aisle and exiting the church. The bells were ringing clearly above them as they looked out onto the quiet street—a black, gold-gilded carriage, pulled by two large, pearly Abraxan horses, was parked in front of them.

Lucius stepped forward and held out his hand to Narcissa, smiling widely as she placed her fingers in his, allowing him to help her into the carriage. When she was seated comfortably, he climbed in besides her. They turned to look back at the church, where many of both of their families had married before. Their parents were milling out into the street to wish them well on their honeymoon—Abraxas and his wife waving excitedly, clearly gleeful that Lucius would no doubt be taking even more of a fortune from his marriage to Narcissa; Druella was using a handkerchief to dab at her watery eyes; and Cygnus, with his silver-threaded hair and lined forehead, was narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Lucius. Narcissa always had been his little princess.

They waved back at their relatives, and the horses pulled off, soaring up into the air. Lucius couldn't wait—this honeymoon was the start of their life together. Until now, Narcissa and Lucius hadn't even spent a night in each other's company.

* * *

"Promise you aren't going to laugh at me?"

Lucius was laid back on the queen-sized, four-poster bed at the Malfoy's holiday home in Eastbourne, waiting for Narcissa to leave the en-suite and join him in the bedroom. He stretched out, putting his arms above his head. "Why would I laugh at you, my love?" he called, smiling. "They say that love is blind...so I don't care what you look like."

There was a creak of the door, and he watched as Narcissa stepped out slowly.

Lucius had to sit up straight, as the vision in front of him was far more than he could have ever hoped for.

"If love is blind, then why is lingerie so popular?" Narcissa replied, smirking. She was dressed in a tight-fitting, white-satin bodice, with thigh-high stockings and suspenders—and she was crawling across the bed towards him rapidly.

* * *

When night fell on the new couple, Lucius felt as though he was floating on air. The day couldn't have gone any better—the wedding happened without a single hiccup, and the first night of their honeymoon was perfect. Despite the pair of them being completely new to the bedroom antics, they had managed to overcome any awkward, uncomfortable moments, and Lucius was sure that he had given Narcissa a beautiful evening to remember.

He was going to sleep with a smile on his face, ready for whatever peaceful dream awaited him.

What seemed like moments later, he was jolted out of his slumber, suddenly engulfed in pitch darkness. He squinted over at the clock by the window, the face illuminated with moonlight. It read three a.m.

Sitting up and rubbing his forehead, Lucius glanced over at the space next to him, and was suddenly overcome with confusion. There was a dent in the pillow beside him, but Narcissa wasn't there.

His senses quickly amplified as he was forced to wake up properly. He listened into the bathroom, but he heard no noise. Quietly, he stepped out of bed and wandered over to the window. There was rain speckled on the glass, and it was too dark outside to see.

Carefully, he trod over to the doorway and began to walk through the dark holiday home, trying to locate his new wife. "Narcissa?" he whispered into the darkness, hearing nothing but his voice echoing back to him. He looked over the balcony and into the downstairs foyer below—what met him was horrifying.

A mass of wine-red blubber and chunks of a flesh-coloured, odd substance stained the expensive carpet in the foyer. A rotting, disgusting smell filled his nostrils, and Lucius was forced to clap his hand over his mouth and nose to prevent the sudden, uncontrollable urge to vomit. He could just make out shreds of denim amidst the mess—it was the bottom half of a male human body, mangled beyond recognition.

Lucius took a deep breath and leaned against the wall, willing the urge to make his legs move. His mind was suddenly filled with questions—had someone broken in? What was this monster? _Where was Narcissa?_ Panic overwhelmed him. What if Narcissa was dead?

That thought alone spurred Lucius into movement, and he allowed his legs to start their journey down the stairs. He advanced upon the bloody scene, trying to not look too closely at the source of the mess. A breeze on his back caused the hairs on the back of his neck to prickle, and he spun around. The double doors were wide open, a cold, wet wind blowing through.

Leading to the door from where he was stood now, was a long trail of blood. Whatever had killed this man had apparently dragged the rest of him out of the house.

Lucius swallowed nervously. He didn't really fancy his chances with the unknown monster—but he had to make sure that his new wife was okay. Not only because of his recently professed undying love for her - but if he returned to London without the princess of the House of Black, Cygnus was sure to murder him on the spot.

With another quick, inwards breath, Lucius headed out of the door before he could change his mind. He followed the bloody path all the way down to the lake, where the boathouse resided. Knowing that the monster was likely to be in there made his insides squirm.

Ever since he was a young boy, Lucius had _hated_ the boathouse by the lake. It was the house where Abraxas had condemned his maternal grandmother to live when she became terminally ill, as he didn't want her cluttering up the holiday home with her "air of death and contempt". Lucius hated visiting his sickly grandmother there—she had a habit of telling eerie stories, something that stayed with her right up to her time on her deathbed. She would insist on telling Lucius one of her terrifying stories while he visited, and Lucius's mother would demand that Lucius sit there and listen to her, as she was ill and it made her happy.

While she spoke, the boathouse would creak mysteriously, the water outside would splash against the panels, and the trees outside the window would bristle and groan, casting horrible shadows on the wall.

When his grandmother finally died, Lucius pledged that he would never go inside that boathouse again. As he grew older, he began to forget about it: it was as if the boathouse just ceased to exist. His line of sight would just always miss the house.

Except for now. From where he was stood, he could see that the door to the boathouse was open. Willing his strength, Lucius ploughed on, marching inside the lakeside house and quietly closing the door behind him.

Almost immediately, Lucius heard a creak on the floorboards directly above him—in the room where his grandmother had spent her dying days. He choked back his nerves, and made his way up the narrow staircase.

After navigating through a short series of corridors, Lucius found himself in front of the door to the room he _never_ wanted to visit again. He clasped the door handle until his knuckles were white, and pushed the door open.

The first thing that met his eye was the second, upper half of the body that had been in the foyer of the main house. Lucius recognised the vacant, glassy eyes as the ones belonging to the Muggle neighbour, who owned a plot of land less than a mile away from the Malfoy's holiday home. Abraxas paid the Muggle handsomely to check on the house and tend to the gardens.

Well, Abraxas _had_ paid this Muggle. He wouldn't be tending to the grounds any longer, as only his head, torso and arms were on the damp old floorboards of the room. At the end of his stomach, his groin and legs had been seemingly torn away, with great, jarring marks in his stomach, as if the Muggle had been bitten. Lucius's theory was further proved as his eyes trailed up to his neck, where an ugly great chunk of flesh had been ripped out of his throat, exposing the bone of his spine. The wound was still bleeding freely; dark blood slugging onto the ground thickly. The sight filled Lucius with dread once again—but he was more nervous, this time.

Just what had done this to the Muggle?

A whimpering sound caused Lucius to flinch and glance over to a dark, shadowy corner of the room. He could just make out a pair of shivering, pale legs, and the glimmer of white-blonde hair.

"Cissy?" Lucius whispered into the darkness, edging closer. "Cissy, come out."

"Go away," replied Narcissa hoarsely. As Lucius got closer, he realised that Narcissa was leaning against the wall with her legs pulled up to her chest. She was gripping her knees with red-stained hands and blood embedded right down her fingernails. Lucius noticed that her usually well-kept hair was also stained with blood, and her previously opal-white lingerie set was grubby and splattered with crimson. She looked up at him with fear-filled eyes, and he spotted blood around her face, too.

Realization seemed to hit him like a train. _Narcissa_ had done this to the Muggle.

He staggered back, and Narcissa suddenly stood. She stepped out of the shadows, looking every bit of a beautiful horror as she advanced upon him.

"Narcissa, what did you do?" he gasped, gaping at the woman who he thought was his wife—the woman who was covered from head to toe in blood.

Narcissa stretched out her hands, desperation etched on her face. "No, Lucius..." she murmured. "It's...it's you?"

"Of course it's me!" Lucius shouted, backing up against the wall. "What is wrong with you? What have you done? Oh, Merlin..." Lucius looked down at the mangled torso of the Muggle. "I've married a _psychopath,_ " his voice quickly turned into a familiar, Malfoy-esque snarl. "I should have known. The Black family is _renowned_ for it's habit of inbreeding."

Narcissa's eyes widened, before her brow quickly furrowed. "What are you saying?" she hissed. "Are you saying that this—that this horrific night is all down to _me?_ "

"Who else would do such awful things besides someone in your family!"

"I can't believe this," Narcissa ran her red-stained hand through her hair, looking away. "I can't believe it..."

"What?" snapped Lucius.

Narcissa shot a glare at him. "I didn't do this!" she hissed, advancing upon him suddenly. Her small hands latched onto the collar of his nightshirt, and a brief flicker of panic surged through him. "You did this!"

* * *

 _He's walking through the dark house slowly, like a prowling predator eagerly expecting it's prey. Even though he knows the house is pitch black, it's as though a red mist has descended on the Malfoy's holiday home. He can see through the eerie, scarlet darkness._

" _Hello?" a voice calls out, and he snaps his head towards the double doors. He recognises the male voice, and after pulling the door open, he remembers the kindly face of the middle-aged Muggle man from the next plot of land. Of course - the Malfoys must have forgotten to tell the Muggle that the holiday home would be in use this weekend, so he is wondering who is using the house. He's just doing his job; what Abraxas pays him for. "Oh, Lucius," the Muggle states idly. "Sorry for disturbing you, I didn't realise—"_

 _He is cut off. Lucius can't help himself; the urge is just too strong. He's lunged forwards and grasped the Muggle by the throat, dragging him into the house. He throws the Muggle onto the foyer floor, and he's looking up, fear in his eyes._

" _Mr Malfoy, please—" he gasps. He's holding out his arm defensively, spreading his fingers._

 _But it's too late._

* * *

"No," Lucius choked, sliding down the wall until his rear touched the ground. Horrible memories flooded back to him suddenly, staining the inside of his head as crimson as the blood flowing from the Muggle's wounds.

Narcissa knelt down on the floor in front of him, taking his hands, but Lucius snatched them back. "It's okay," she soothed, pressing her palms to his face. Her skin was cold and felt blissful against his clammy, burning temperature. "I know what it is."

"Wh...what?" Lucius noticed at that moment that Narcissa was holding something; a small, navy book with a leather clasp. "What's that?"

"I found it...I found it when you went back to the house. It's your grandmother's journal."

* * *

 _The blood flowing down his throat is burning hot, but he has never felt or tasted anything better in his life. The kill was exquisite; his teeth had sunk into the Muggles flesh easily, as if he were biting into mashed potato. He had shredded veins and arteries, broken bones and tendons. He had ripped the Muggle clean in two, and was devouring the soft organs in his lower abdomen._

" _Lucius?" a voice echoes from upstairs, and he looks up onto the balcony above. A woman stands there, her pale skin glowing ethereally against the pearly satin material of her lingerie. Her grey-blue eyes are wide and fearful as she stares down at him, gripping the banister. "What are you doing?"_

 _This is the woman he married, who he proclaimed to love. But she also looks so delicious as she stands there; beautifully delicious._

 _But he can't kill her. He_ married _her. So instead, Lucius grabbed the top half of the Muggle and charged from the house, seeming to run a lot faster than normal. He doesn't know where else to go—until he sees the boathouse._

* * *

"She was like you, Lucius," Narcissa continued. Lucius's breathing had elevated, and he stared into his wife's eyes. "She...she did this stuff too. She was never terminally ill, Lucius. Your...your dad just lied to you, until it was time to kill her."

" _Kill_ her?" gasped Lucius, reaching up and grabbing his throat. His airways were tightening. He couldn't breathe. "What was she? What...what am I?"

Narcissa pressed her lips together and closed her eyes for a moment. "I don't know," she murmured. "I really don't know."

"What am I going to do?" Lucius's voice was high and wobbly, and he was shaking. "Oh Merlin, what am I going to do? It's the end of the world..."

"It's not the end of the world," Narcissa leaned forward and pulled Lucius's head forward, so that he was resting his head on her chest. Tears slipped down his face silently and splashed her breast, but she ignored it, stroking his hair softly. "We'll find out what's wrong with you. I _promise_ , I won't stop until we find a cure for...for this madness, or whatever it is. I'll be with you always," Narcissa pressed her lips to his forehead.

"You make the end of the world look like something poetic, and disgustingly romantic."

"It's not the end of the world," Narcissa repeated. "I promise"

 _ **End**_


End file.
